Animal (18+)

The waft of something putrid and bitter had Mykah wrinkling her nose.

She sniffed at her armpit again and made a small blergh sound as she leaned back on the pillows fluffed behind her. It had been two days since her waking and Ezekiel had been a quiet helpful hand drifting in and out of the room as needed.

There had been a routine to his drop-ins, and she noticed that he appeared at the same time every day. Dawn would find him entering after announcing himself with curt knocks on the door. He would bring porridge for breakfast, something simple and light on her stomach, and he would change her bandage for the arm as well as her twisted ankle– which she later realized when she withdrew the blankets.

It was a mangled mess.

Mykah would take naps throughout the day–dozing off after breakfast and medication, then wake at noon to use the washroom which was a small bedpan just outside the door which he ceremoniously cleaned and returned to its exact place.

By the third day, she had enough.

"I'd love a shower," she said to the man who was turned away from her, changing her sheets. He was leaning over the bed, smoothing out wrinkles with a wide palm and tucking in the corners at neat forty five degree angles.

Ezekiel tilted his head slightly, eyes flicking to her. He acknowledged her words though he said nothing.

That was also another thing noticed. The man barely and when he did, it was to answer her questions or ask a few. It irked her that they hardly had any friendly conversations, but she had to remind herself that this was not a friendship and their kinds were sworn enemies.

Mykah, propped on the corner seat, leaned forward and said, "I saw you had a bathroom somewhere and I kind of stink real bad." He had given her a cloth and bucket to wipe off her private parts and other stink zones, but she craved a proper shower.

The blanket, now freshly changed, fluttered in the air as he whipped it up and let it settle back on the bed.

"Would you like a hot shower?"

Mykah blinked slowly. Then nodded. "Yes please."

He fluffed the pillows and drew the curtains open allowing light into the room. She squinted against the intrusion and sat just a bit straighter as he turned around to finally look at her. The intensity of his gaze was swallowed by the pitch black of his pupils.

"Would you like me to draw it for you now?"

"That would be awesome… great. It would be great."

And as he moved past her with a curt nod, Mykah could not help but follow him until he was out of view as he rounded the corner and the mechanical thud thud of his boots echoed along the hallway.

Lycanthropes, it seemed, had a way of moving that was not entirely human. They glided and gravity clearly favored them because the size of him did not affect just how easily and quickly he moved.

Most of the time it was quiet enough for her not to locate him in the house. It could be quiet and all then suddenly he would be standing by her doorway with a tray of food or medicine in hand, his eyes watching her with a curious intensity that made the back of her neck feel hot.

But there were times when she could hear him. Sense the movements of his body beyond the walls as he moved from one room to the next.

Almost as if he wanted her to hear him.

He was back in a few minutes with a clean large towel and a pair of exfoliating gloves and on top of all that, a new toothbrush.

Mykah ran her tongue over her soft filmed teeth and grinned sheepishly as a chagrin flush took over. Did he smell my breath? Was that a nonverbal way of saying her breath stank?

Does it matter? The voice interrupted her thoughts boredly, maybe even defensively. You're leaving this place in a few days, it doesn't matter what the lycanthrope thinks of you.

Rising awkwardly from her seat with the help of the crutches that he had given her and were surprisingly – or suspiciously– her height, Mykah hobbled towards the doorway and peeked through the corner at the open bathroom door down the hall.

Ezekiel was crouched low by the tub, one hand reaching for the tap knobs adjusting the temperature as his other arm was dipped in the water, feeling the temperature. His expression seemed distant, the cut of his side profile more angled and a line had formed between his brows mildly.

Mykah glanced at his forearms now revealed from the elbow down as each sleeve was rolled up neatly. There lay a long haggard scar from his inner wrist and along the underside. It looked ugly to the eye. As if someone – or rather, a lycanthrope– had dragged its claw there.

"The bath is ready."

His voice startled her. She blinked and glanced up to meet his silverquick gaze flashing in her direction from his periphery.

Come.

Mykah wasn't sure if she heard him correctly, that voice that seemingly broke through the haze of her thoughts as her eyes latched onto his. Wordlessly she hobbled down the hallway while craning her head around suddenly interested in the wallpaper and not the man who seemed to take the whole bathroom space.

"Thank you." She muttered after he pointed out different knobs and where her towel and pyjamas were neatly folded on the toilet seat.

He began to slide past her and moved to the door, halting there briefly before flicking at her broken arm still in a cast, then her foot also bandaged.

Raising her chin, Mykah met his gaze, unflinching.

I can most definitely wash myself. Thank you.

The door shut.

The process of divesting herself of clothing was a tedious job and one that left her grunting, sighing and mumbling to herself about her broken arm and her twisted foot. Cursing all the blind reasons that made her cross that goddamn forsaken dome.

"Nngh–" Her arm stopped halfway as the material snagged on the cast. Mykah tried withdrawing her arm to find another position to remove the clothing but failed.

After a few prolonged minutes she was slowly dipping herself into the warm water with frustratedly flushed cheeks.

Her twisted foot remained on the lip of the tub and so did her broken arm. For a moment she simply lay there in the water watching as it rose up her neck and settled at the tip of her chin. The heat was soothing and rubbed against the tensed muscles of her shoulders.

With a sigh she sunk further, holding her breath as it rose past her face and her hair briefly suspended itself like lily pads on the surface.

The bottle of shower gel smelled vaguely like sandalwood and citrus, it didn't foam as easily as it should have and she kept adding until guilt set in. Washing her hair was another issue and by the time she was done and out of the bathtub, the floor was a puddle of water, her hair was not properly rinsed and the skin around her cast was bandaged and was clearly a shade darker from grime.

But she felt a modicum of cleanness as compared to before.

"A win is a win." Mykah muttered while patting herself dry and drawing on the front button shirt with a loose pair of pants rolled around the waist to prevent the cuffs from trailing on the ground.

Checking herself in the mirror, she applied some of the cold lotion on her face, avoiding her eyes which seemed darker under and her skin resembled a fish just drawn out of water. Wrinkled. Tired.

"Home," toweling off her hair barely, she hung it up on the hook and stepped out of the bathroom with steam curling in the air behind her. "I need to go home."

Dusk had spread its wings beyond the window of the bedroom and she stood there leaning on a crutch while gazing at the treeline. His home was built on a ranch with a neat shed in the distance and a truck parked right in front of it. A fence circled the area and beyond that was an endless horizon of woods. The only way out was a single serpentine road that cut through the woods.

Daed town. She wondered just how far that place was.

Below the sound of a pot clattering reached her. Drawn from the window, Mykah hobbled towards the door and towards the hallway where she stood by the banister watching for movement below. The air was thick with a spicy stew, something nourishing and different from the childlike meals he had been feeding her.

Her stomach growled in response and for a moment she simply stood there contemplating if it was worth going downstairs to ask for a different kind of meal.

What if he's eating human flesh? Or something lycanthropes only eat.

The thought anchored her to the floor. Her nostrils flared as she sniffed again trying to reason it out.

If it was human flesh surely he would have consumed her by now.

Not true, he could be fattening you up. You're the final meal.

With that thought, she turned and began to make her way into the bedroom when his voice echoed up the stairwell.

"Dinner is ready."

Her heart leaped and lodged itself in her throat.